


Ever Thought Of Calling When You've Had  A Few?

by FakePlastikTrees



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:18:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19096795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlastikTrees/pseuds/FakePlastikTrees
Summary: So Beth goes out and gets drunk and Rio is waiting on her doorstep when she gets home. (It's BARELY a plot)





	Ever Thought Of Calling When You've Had  A Few?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loosely based off a prompt from](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=loosely+based+off+a+prompt+from), [flashindie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashindie/gifts).



> This is just barely proofread because I'm a lazy. Apologies in advance.

“Barkeep!” 

 

“Hey, barkeep!” 

 

“BAR-KEEP!” Ruby shouts across the crowded bar when Beth and Annie’s attempts don’t work. When the guy finally turns to look at them, she motions with three fingers and says, “Three more, por favor!” 

 

“I think he hates being called ‘barkeep,” Says Annie, aiming for and missing the straw in her drink before finally using her hand to place it in her mouth. 

 

Beth lets out something like a snort and a sound of complete and utter annoyance as she slams her hand on the bartop, wincing at the unexpected moisture there. “Well you know what? That’s his job. Like, that’s his title, so he needs to chill. We all have titles we don’t  _ love _ .”

 

“Yeah, like cashier,” Annie says. 

 

“Donut maker,” Ruby adds with a grimace. 

 

“Yeah,” Beth nods and then leans in as she whispers, “drug dealer.” 

 

Annie clicks her tongue to her teeth and stares at her sister through half hooded, suspicious eyes. 

 

“What?”

“You like it though.”

 

“No, I don’t! What’s there to like about it?”

 

“You like being a drug dealer, you like being a  _ baaad _ girl.” Annie wiggles a finger in Beth’s face until she shoves it away. 

 

“Stop it.” 

 

“You looove being a bad girl. You’re the Nancy Botwin of Detroit and you like it, admit it.”

 

Ruby is laughing giddily into her drink while Beth points an ineffective glare their way. 

 

“I do not.”

 

“You like it,” Repeats Annie. “You like lots of things about it, but I think one particular thing is your favorite, and it’s attached to one scary gangster boss-man with a tattoo on his neck whose name starts with an R.” 

 

“Stop it--”

 

“It’s his penis,” Annie whispers and Beth throws a carton coaster at her while Ruby throws her head back and laughs. 

 

Their shots arrive, at which point Ruby stares back at the bartender and says, “Nuh-uh. I meant three more rounds. What do we look like? High schoolers?” 

 

“No. No more tequila,” Beth resists, but Ruby’s already waved the bartender away for the rest of their order. 

 

“What’s this ‘no more tequila’ business? You’ve got somewhere you need to be, princess? The kids are with their grandma for the weekend, we said this was all-you-can-drink night--”

 

“Well, I’ve reached my limit!” Beth exclaims with a hiccup, her hand flying to her mouth instantly, setting Ruby and Annie off into another fit of giggles. 

 

“You know what’s good for hiccups?” Ruby prompts, slowly pushing the tiny yet menacing tequila shot in front of Beth. 

 

“Okay,” Beth concedes, another hiccup escaping her. “Fine.” 

 

An hour later, Beth stumbles out of their shared Lyft, already regretting every choice she’s made that night. 

 

Everything is spinning so she stops to gather her balance, the sound of Annie and Ruby giggling in the car behind her making her laugh a little to herself. 

 

“I’m trying to concentrate, be quiet!”

 

“Do you need help getting inside, ma’am?” 

 

She wants to turn around and glare at the driver, but she’s afraid if she tries that now, she will stumble in her heels and eat shit right there, fifteen steps from her front door. 

 

“Oh my god,” Annie says from the backseat. “Don’t call her ma’am!” 

 

“Rude,” Ruby adds and Beth closes her eyes to keep from toppling over the way her shoulders are shaking from laughing for absolutely no reason.

 

“Okay. You can go now!” She finally exclaims.

 

“Are you sure?” Annie asks. 

 

The hushed whispers exchanged after that are concerning, but not more concerning that Beth’s current state of inebriated imbalance, and so her eyes flutter open and she braces herself for the seemingly endless walk to her door.

 

“Never mind, I think you’re fine!” Annie calls as Beth cautiously begins her trek home and waves them away. 

 

“Goodnight! I’m fine!” 

 

“Have fuuun!” 

 

Beth snorts another laugh and can make out the sound of the car leaving as she feels around in her purse for her keys, struggling to find them but succeeding eventually, only to then drop them on the ground, and she thinks this might require some real talent. 

 

Taking a fortifying breath, Beth bends over to retrieve the the keys off the floor. Coming up, she pauses to steady herself again, using a palm to brush her hair back and out of her face, one stubborn strand tickling her nose, drawing out a sneeze as she reaches the grassy pathway that will lead her to her door.

 

“Bless you.”

 

“Thank you,” she says reflexively and then stops to fully register that that was in fact, another voice. It only takes her a moment to realize who it is, and immediately, she scowls. 

 

“Damn,” He says, getting up from her front steps. “Not up for visitors?” 

 

“It’s--what time is it? It’s  _ late _ .”

 

“It’s almost four in the morning,” He says, steps aside for her to walk up, and watches her do so very slowly so as to not lose her balance.

 

Beth’s never stopped to consider it but she’s pretty sure that having Rio watch her drunkenly fall on her doorstep is right under eating glass on the list of things she doesn’t ever want to do. 

 

She lets out a slow, pensive breath as she holds the key and aims carefully, dreading the possibility of missing. 

 

“Need help with that?” 

 

“Shut up,” she snaps and furrows her brow in concentration as she pushes the key inside, smiling to herself when she gets it on her first try. Sighing contentedly, she pushes the door open, leaving her keys dangling on the door, and dropping her purse in the doorway. 

 

She wants to ask him what he’s doing there, but she realizes she doesn’t really care, and then she remembers her keys but when she turns around, Rio’s beat her to it and has picked up her purse too, setting both down on the table in the hall. 

 

He’s got a nice coat on and looks like he’s been out. He doesn’t look drunk but has that  _ look _ . He looks good. She probably looks a mess. 

 

He catches her staring and smiles. 

 

She rolls her eyes and turns toward the kitchen, only bumping into the wall once on her way there. 

 

Bracing herself on the counter she reaches down and pulls off one heel, then the other, just in time for Rio to make his way into the kitchen. Uninvited–or rather, self-invited. She’s never met a more infuriating man in her life. 

 

He stops and looks down at her feet, smirking as he notes, “No mismatched socks this time.” 

 

And then it all comes back to her like speedwatching; the tentative kisses that became not so tentative, the way he grabbed her and pulled her against him, the way he couldn't’ stop kissing her, even while he--and  _ oh _ . Now she’s beginning to understand why he’s here.

 

“You want a drink?” She asks. 

 

He looks almost shy when when he shakes his head. 

 

Beth nods. “I’ve had enough anyway. I’m going to get some water as soon as the floor stops spinning.” 

 

He nods then and walks slowly toward the cupboard, looking at her as if for permission, “Mind if I get it?” 

 

Resting her hip against the island counter, Beth shrugs. “Sure. Glasses or on the left side. Top shelf.” 

 

He moves quietly enough across the floor and finds a glass. He fills it with tap water and then brings it over to her, stepping way closer than necessary and Beth can smell his cologne.

 

_ How does it smell so fresh at this hour while she probably reeks of stale alcohol? _

 

She really hates him sometimes. 

 

“Can I ask you something?” He asks as she sips, voice all low and silky.

 

“Hmm?” 

 

“How do you reach anything up there? You’re so short.”

 

She glares at first and then smacks his shoulder, accomplishing nothing except making him laugh. 

 

“I am not  _ short _ ,” she says, moving past him to place the glass in the sink.

 

“You’re not tall.”

 

“I have a little stool.”

 

“A little stool?” 

 

“Yeah, a little step stool. Under the sink.” 

 

“Hmm.” 

 

He’s quiet then, and she’s not sure she’s close enough to the sink but she’s still too drunk to stand upright on her own so she trusts it’ll be there when she leans back and crosses her arms, meeting that intimidating smolder of his head on. Except she fears it may be getting the best of her, being this drunk. He’s just standing there, looking at her, looking at her dress where it stops just above her knee and Beth can’t help but think of his hands there, parting her thighs--

 

“Make me a drink,” she tells him. And she shouldn’t be drinking anymore than she already has, but it’s safer than the other thoughts running through her head right now. 

 

His eyebrow goes up and he cocks his head a little, and for a second Beth things he might tell her to go fuck herself, but his lips turn up briefly. 

 

“What do you want?” 

 

“Tequila. I don’t want to mix.” 

 

“That’s a myth,” he informs her, heading toward the drink cart in the living room. “You’re fucked now regardless, so just have what you want.”

 

“Okay,” She says, feeling bold. “Pour me something.” 

 

She follows him into the other room and takes a seat on the couch, feet comfortably under her, head propped on her hand as she watches his the muscles of his back shift as he pours. She can remember so perfectly the way her hands had gripped and touched his bare back and she briefly bites her lip at that. 

 

_ This is inappropriate _ , she thinks. No, she knows it is. She said she was done and here they are, still doing that thing they do, and she doesn't even question it.

 

“What are you doing here?” She asks.

 

He turns and hands her a glass before joining her on the couch, leaving enough space between them for her sanity and what slivers of her sobriety she’s got left. 

 

“I was in the area,” he replies. “Thought I’d drop by to say hey.” 

 

“At four in the morning.” 

 

“Yeah,” he says, gives her a knowing smile that prompts her to roll her eyes. 

 

“God.” She can’t even taste the alcohol anymore. She should really not finish this drink. “You are so presumptuous.” 

 

“Am I?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Hmm.” 

 

Then there’s the silence again. The ice in her drink clinks softly, and he’s staring at her like he knows what she’s thinking, except she’s thinking about his mouth again and she’s beginning to stare at it, and that heat is coiling between her legs and-- _ goddamn him _ . 

 

“You’re so annoying,” She finally huffs. “And you’re smug.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

He’s so amused. He’s always so amused to see her worked up and losing her shit. She really cannot stand him.

 

“You must think you’re so cute. Coming in here, making me a drink.”

 

“You told me to make you a drink.”

 

“At four in the morning just assuming I was going to let you in.”

 

“Didn’t even get a thank you.” 

 

She stops talking then. He’s smiling when she glares over the rim of her glass before taking a hearty swig. She then watches him, studying his expression but there isn’t much to watch except for the usual obvious innuendo in the borderline lewd way he looks at her, and she should hate it, but she doesn’t, and that in itself is infuriating. With her brain marinating in far too much tequila, it’s difficult to suppress the frustration she feels about the whole thing. 

 

She hates herself when she swallows the remains of her drink because she knows she’s going to pay for it in a few hours, and after she sets the glass down on the coffee table, head swimming and heart pumping, she hates herself some more for climbing onto Rio’s lap and scooting all the way forward, one of her knees pushing some mystery toy into the crevice between the cushion and the backrest of the couch. 

 

She’s got Rio trapped with his head tilted back as he looks up at her, eyes hooded as his hands rest upon her hips and she rests her arms astride his head on the backrest, their bodies as close as they can get. 

 

He isn’t even remotely surprised, but his lips do part, letting out a soft grunt when Beth grinds her hips down a little. 

 

It all moves quickly then; undoing his belt and pushing the crotch of her underwear aside and then--it all moves quickly until they’re completely still, lips grazing and breathing harshly as his hold on her hips turn into a tight grip, and she’s got one hand on the back of his neck and the other over curved the backrest. 

 

He’s deep inside her and she’s trying her damndest to relish it, just feeling her muscles contract around him, making her spine tingle, making him squeeze her hips a little tighter every time.

 

“Don’t move,” she whispers harshly and then begins to move her hips slowly, rocking back and forth, and then gyrating, squeezing and releasing, keeping the pace slow and steady until her entire body is covered in goosebumps and Rio’s brow is furrowed with the strain of keeping still. 

 

She darts her tongue out to flick his upper lip, smiling when he chases her mouth, only to be distracted by a sudden clench that makes them both groan. 

 

“Don’t. Move,” She repeats, and he nods, eyes glued to her mouth. 

 

For all intents and purposes he could stand to listen to her more, and if she’s being fair, so could she, but here, when she has him like this, she leads and she doesn’t hate it. 

 

When she finally kisses him, she tastes what she guesses is beer, and she wonders if he’s drunk. Obviously not as drunk as she is, but still, she wonders where he’s been tonight–with whom. 

 

She bites his lip and he squeezes her ass, hard, pulling her tighter against him, pushing himself impossibly deeper and she gasps against his mouth, drawing her hips back and then thrusting forward harshly, just once, just to settle him back into stillness. His breath is labored now, and she’s panting as she pauses here, breasts crushed against his chest as she waits. 

 

She hears a harsh but quiet “fuck” before she kisses him again; all tongue and teeth as she resumes rocking her hips, struggling to keep the pace she’s set as her release begins to build and she’s moaning, keening, almost whimpering moans against his soft grunts. 

 

“Oh, god…” she’s pants, tearing her lips from his to bury her face in his neck, her knuckles white with the pressure of her grip on the backrest. 

 

And then she’s coming, and it’s slow, and long, and somewhere in the middle he’s joined her and maybe it’s the alcohol but she is tingling from the top of her head to her toes. 

 

Her body is still trembling sporadically when he turns his head to kiss her neck, which only makes it worse– _ or better _ , she’s not sure at the moment, but she knows it’s a lot. She can feel his breath hot against her shoulder until she’s able to move. She slowly climbs off his lap, managing to rearrange her underwear before collapsing on the couch beside him. 

 

Her eyes are closed, basking in the afterglow and she can hear him moving beside her, feels the couch dip as he presumably makes himself presentable and she imagines that when she opens her eyes he will look pristine as he did when she first found him on her doorstep and that aggravates her all over again. 

 

“It’s annoying how much I like you. How do you like someone so much and also find them so annoying?” It’s out and she doesn’t really know it’s out until it’s very quiet and she’s heard it after she’s said it and even then she’s not really sure, because she’s still spinny and tingly, and it’s a dangerous combination.

 

She pushes herself to sit up on the couch before opening her eyes and looking over at him. He’s sitting there, a little flushed but not much else, just looking at her with those mischievous, smiling eyes.

 

She yawns and he smirks.

 

“Go to bed,” he says. “I’ll lock up on my way out.” 

 

“Okay.”

 

She pushes herself up off the couch and manages to not sway anymore as she heads toward her bedroom.

 

She’s almost there when she hears him say from the backdoor, “Sorry to hear you like me so much.”

 

She freezes short of entering her bedroom, hears him laugh softly and when the door shuts behind him, Beth feels the cold chill of realization; that terrible feeling of knowing she’s just said something she shouldn’t have, and somewhere under the thick fog of alcohol, the regret begins to bubble in her gut because he’s never going to let her live that down. 

 

“Shit,” she curses to herself before a truly unwelcome but unmistakable feeling of nausea catapults into her and she rushes to the bathroom. While she’s emptying her dinner into the toilet, the only thought in her mind is that her theory about mixing was most definitely not a myth and she’s going to remember to tell him that the next time she sees him, if only for the pleasure of of them both knowing he was wrong. 


End file.
